A Perfect Beginning
by theatrenerd24601
Summary: Set shortly after the end of the Anastasia musical, it covers what happens after Anya and Dmitry elope.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Anya awoke to darkness. Shaking, she sat up and let her eyes adjust to the dark, and once she was decently able to see, she let her feet touch the cold tiles of the floor and walked toward the outside balcony. Pushing the doors open, she gratefully stepped into the crisp, fresh air and took in a deep breath, closing the doors behind her. Slowly, she walked towards the edge of the balcony and rested her hands upon the smooth stone edge.

As she gazed at the beautiful view of the lights of Paris, she tried to calm herself down. She'd had another nightmare. Of course, ever since that night in the cellar in Yekaterinburg, she'd been a familiar acquaintance to the haunting memories of her past replaying over and over in her dreams. But these days, the nightmares were different. These were about Gleb. Now, it seemed that every night she saw the gun aimed at her chest, heard Gleb's cold, cruel words, and felt the tension thick as syrup, her fear, and his anger. The dreams ended with the noise of a gunshot that flashed red in front of her eyes before fading into darkness, and she always awoke to more darkness.

Sighing, she rubbed her hands against her arms to warm herself up. It was chilly but she wasn't ready to go back inside quite yet. She'd never told Dmitry about what had happened with Gleb- she'd seen no reason to, and the words never flowed right in the sentences she formed in her mind. They were too choppy, too distant, never vivid or real enough. So she kept this piece of knowledge to herself, and braved through it each night.

It took a few more deep breaths to calm her, but she was eventually ready to return to the dark. Carefully, she silently opened and closed the doors to avoid waking Dima, then slipped into the sheets next to him. But sleep was not a friend tonight. She fell into restless half-dreams which flashed before her eyes- Gleb, her family, the deafening sound of a gunshot- until she finally awoke yet again, drenched in a feverish sweat.

"Deep breaths, Anya. Deep breaths," she murmured to herself, picking up a shawl and wrapping it around herself. She heard Dmitry stirring and turned around to face him. His hands were searching for her among the sheets, and when they did not find her, he sat up, shaking off his drowsiness. She sat beside him and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Anya?" he asked.

"I just…. had a bad dream," she replied.

He wrapped his arm around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"You want to come back to bed?"

She didn't answer, just closed her eyes and cherished his warmth. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead, then shifted until he was staring her in the face.

"Anya, you're burning up." He got up and poured her a glass of water, handing her the glass. The cool liquid was a relief to her scorching throat, and she downed it quickly, her hand shaking from the effort. Dmitry took the glass from her and filled it again, this time helping her drink.

She felt dizzy and weak. Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to clear the images of Gleb from her mind. She was tired, oh so tired, and yet the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.

Dmitry was lighting a lantern. As the burst of light flickered and slowly illuminated the room, she turned away and shut her eyes. It was very bright.

"Anya?" Dmitry asked. He studied her face as she looked at him. "You look terrible."

She felt terrible. She was drenched in a warm sweat but was somehow freezing, and she felt her nightdress sticking to her skin like the residue of sweets that stuck to her fingers.

"I'll be fine, Dima. I'm going to take a bath. Go back to sleep." She didn't wait for an answer, but carefully pried herself from the mattress, grabbed the lantern, and walked into the bathroom. As the light hit the mirror, she was able to get a good look at herself.

Dmitry was right- she did look terrible. Her eyes were drowsy and inattentive and dark circles had formed underneath them. Her face was flushed in blotchy red patches.

Slowly, she dipped a washcloth in the water basin and wrung it out, then wiped down her face and neck. She did not feel any better. Sighing, she walked over to the bathtub and let the water run until it was warm. As she let the water fill the tub, she tried to think of nice, warm thoughts to drown out the pictures the nightmares had burned into her brain, but to no avail.

At last, the tub was filled, and she stripped off her damp nightgown before entering the steaming water. The bath was a relief. Her muscles ached as if she had done something strenuous in the night, and she welcomed the water's soothing heat. Slowly, she scrubbed herself down with soap until she felt cleansed and not so sick.

Standing up, she let the water drain as she wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the tub, then dried herself off and put on clean nightclothes. She was still shaking. The dizziness had also started to return. She quietly exited the bathroom in case Dmitry was sleeping, but she found that he was sitting on the bed, waiting for her.

"You look a little better," he admitted, standing up and walking to her. Brushing the hair out of her face, he felt her forehead once again. "You're still burning up. How do you feel?"

She didn't respond. She didn't know how to.

Dmitry noticed this, he must have, but he chose to leave their conversation behind and started to fluff up the pillows on their bed, making a place for her to lay down. As he did, Anya noticed that he had changed the sheets to a softer, more breathable fabric, which would keep her from sweating quite so much. She let a smile cross her face as she walked toward him and pulled him into a hug. Anya had always loved hugs. They were warm and comforting, and made her feel safe. She tucked her head into his neck and stood still for a moment, not wanting the hug to end.

But it did, of course, and Dmitry pulled away and got back into bed.

"Okay, you need to get some sleep," Dmitry said, gesturing toward her side of the bed. Anya was freezing again, and settled in gratefully against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and finally, she was able to drift easily into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Anya awoke to light. Slowly, she stretched out on the sheets, welcoming the warmth that streamed against her face. Dmitry was already up, pulling on a shirt.

She sat up and smiled at him, leaning back into the sunlight.

Dmitry chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well, you're feeling better," he said, buttoning up his shirt.

"Morning, Dima," she replied, standing up and grabbing a glass. Pouring some water into it, she looked out the windows at the city below as she drank. Paris had not impressed her at first, but it had quickly nudged its way into a place close to her heart.

"You up to exploring today?" Dmitry asked her.

She grinned. "Of course. How could I miss our day of adventure?" She asked, setting the glass down.

Dmitry was almost done getting dressed, and she took this as her cue to start getting ready for the day. Taking a brush off of the nightstand, she carefully brushed out the tangles from her hair, then put up her hair. Then, it was time to decide on a dress. She picked one that was a dusty pink, with fabric so light and soft that it seemed to float around her, and quickly put it on. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found that Dmitry was ready to go and was making their bed. Quickly, she rushed to help him, and in seconds the task was finished.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked her, placing a kiss onto her forehead.

"Yes," she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a real kiss. He lingered against her for a bit, then pulled away and offered her his arm.

"Well then, your highness, let's get going."

She smiled and took his arm, and they walked into the streets together. Paris was already buzzing with people, and Anya's head was constantly whirling around, trying to take everything in. They had been in Paris for about a month now, but with trying to get everything about their new life settled and on the down low, Anya and Dmitry had never really gotten the time to explore the city by themselves. The scent of freshly baked pastries and succulent fruits followed behind her like the train of a gown. She took in a deep breath and cherished it. Focusing on a cart, she pulled Dmitry with her toward it.

"Dima, look," she exclaimed. "Eclairs!"

Dmitry broke away from her grip to buy two of them. As she watched him pay, she recognized the uneasiness in his stance. He hadn't quite gotten used to having enough money to never worry about having enough, even after dreaming about it for years.

For Anya, it was a mix of emotions. She still remembered her carefree days as a child, but she also could not forget those cold, hungry, desperate nights alone in the woods when she was so hungry she'd chewed on the inside bark of pine trees just to fill her stomach with something.

Her and Dmitry, they never over indulged, but always took just enough.

Although, she was sure that Nana would want them to overindulge. She was the one who had provided for them in the first place. After Anya and Dmitry had eloped, Anya had made sure that they weren't too far from Nana, for easy visits. Of course, on the first return, Nana had insisted that they be taken care of financially.

"When's the wedding?" Nana had whispered in her ear. Anya had smiled distantly, not knowing how to respond. Dmitry had not yet proposed, and she was still not sure he ever would.

Nana had rubbed her back understandingly. "Well, whenever you two decide to do it, you must tell me. I will be there."

Anya had hugged her goodbye, the scent of orange blossoms overpowering her.

"Here, Anya," Dmitry said, bringing her back to the present. He was holding out her eclair, waiting for her to respond.

She quickly took it from him and took a big bite. It was delicious, soft and warm, the chocolate on top complementing the cream inside.

"It's amazing," she said, looking over at him, who nodded in response as he took another bite of his. His was already almost gone.

She laughed. "Dima! It's not going anywhere!" She told him, but a part of her heart ached as she realized that as a child, he'd never gotten anything he wanted. He'd most likely never gotten special treats or gifts from loving relatives. And if he had ever had things like baked goods, those were things that he'd probably had to eat quickly, in case other people would try to steal it. This lavish life was completely new to him. She took his arm again and decided that in the future, she wouldn't say anything about how fast he was eating or anything similar.

Taking another bite of her eclair and pulled him further down the street.

A painting caught her eye, and she turned to look at it. It was a soft, almost hazy scene of a family playing by a river.

"Tu aimes?" Asked the merchant. She noticed his thick accent on the words and looked up at him.

"Oui. You aren't french, are you?" she asked.

"Thank the lord!" He sighed, relieved. "My french is a disgrace. No, I'm not from France."

She smiled and looked back at the painting. "Did you paint this?"

The merchant nodded.

"When I'm uninspired, I paint the rumors I hear. When I painted this, I heard of the princess Anastasia. You've heard about those rumors, yes?"

Anya's heart was beating very fast, and her throat tightened. She gave a nod.

"Well, I wanted to paint her, but whether she is alive or not, I haven't any idea what she'd look like now. So I painted her as a child, playing with her family."

Anya was trying not to let her emotions cross her face, and she felt Dmitry slip his hand into her own. She studied the painting. He'd gotten their faces down just right. "It's beautiful," she was finally able to tell the merchant.

She felt Dmitry's eyes on her face, and looked over at him. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and turned to the merchant.

"We'll take it," Dmitry told him. Anya didn't have it in her to protest. It was expensive, but it felt almost like a part of her now, and she had no idea how to let it go.

Dmitry walked over to pay for the painting, and returned with it in hand. She took his arm again and rested her head against his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered.

The painting was fairly large and proved to be somewhat awkward to carry, and they agreed to take it back home, then returned to the streets. "Where to now?" Dmitry questioned. She looked around, thinking.

"What about Notre Dame?" she asked.

Dmitry shrugged. "Okay," he said. "To Notre Dame."

It was a fairly long walk to the cathedral, but neither of them minded. They'd both walked much longer in worse conditions.

When the cathedral came into view, Anya gaped at the sight. As she got closer and closer to the building, it began to tower over her. She felt so small in comparison, almost insignificant. Dmitry was looking up with the same awe written on his face as she now felt.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. Dmitry gave a chuckle under his breath.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Just... imagine, a year ago, telling yourself that today you'd be standing in the heart of Paris," Dmitry said, placing his hand on the small of her back.

A soft smile crossed her lips.

"I would have never believed it. But here we are. The heart of Paris. Look, there's the Seine. And the Louvre, just down there, we passed it to get here."

Dmitry nodded, gazing down at her.

"Yeah. Here we are."

She took his hand and leaned into him for a moment, then pulled away

"Well? We're in the heart of Paris, we should do more than just stand here!" Anya gestured down the road.

"It's that way to Sacré-Cœur, what do you say we go there next?"

"Wow, Anya, I don't think you're excited at all," he replied.

"I've dreamed about this city for years. Let's go!"

So they did. They visited Sacré-Cœur, and the Louvre, and the Place Charles de Gaulle.

They had lunch on the streets and dinner at a cafe, watched the sun go down, then strolled through the quiet night roads.

Anya was soon ready to leave, and pulled Dmitry to come with her, but a look of confusion crossed his face.

"Anya, what about the bridge? Aren't we visiting that?"

Anya was quiet, but nodded and took his arm, and they walked together until the bridge came into view. It was just as beautiful as she remembered.

"It's beautiful," he said softly.

"Yes, like everything else in Paris. Le Pont Alexandre III."

There was a moment of silence between them, but it was comfortable and welcome, as they stared at the bridge, the lights, the water.

"I think we've had our share of adventure for today, don't you, Dima?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I do."

And then they returned home, the silence once again returning.

From the windows of their room, the light from the Eiffel Tower lit up the night. Anya gazed at it as she got ready for bed, and as she lay down beside Dmitry, for the first time in over a month, she fell asleep without the feeling of dread lurking over her.


	3. Chapter 3

( Warning! This chapter has events that could possibly be upsetting to readers. There are scenes of extensive violence, deaths, and gunshots. Please use discretion before reading. )

…

Gunfire. All she could hear was gunfire and screaming. The smoke was thick and threatened to choke her. She couldn't breathe. Oh god, the screaming. The gunshots. The noise was deafening. Sound faded out and was replaced with a ringing in her ears, which muffled everything else. More gunshots were fired. And then, silence. Nothing but silence.

Anastasia stirred, trying to piece together what had happened. A photograph. They had been told they were taking a photograph, to dispute the rumors of their escape. Father had asked for chairs... they had brought some in. And then one of the guards, he'd announced that the Soviet of Workers' Deputies had resolved to shoot them. There had been a moment of stunned silence before father had yelled "What?"

That was when the shooting had started. Anastasia had been hit, but not injured. Her dress, decorated with jewels, had shielded her from any real damage.

And now, Anastasia was trembling, trying to get up. Was anyone else alive?

"That one, there. Shoot her again," someone said, but she could not identify the voice.

Suddenly, her ears were deafened once again, and she felt the impact of something hitting her chest, but once again, although breathless, she was unharmed. Turning over and getting onto her knees, she grabbed a wall for support and started to stand, coughing and gasping for breath. And then something struck her head, and everything had turned to black.

...

Voices. There were distant voices. She was confused. Her head ached, her chest ached. She was so frightened. The voices were threatening now. She was laying on top of something, she could not tell what. She searched her brain, attempting to make sense of anything, but the thoughts that came to her mind vanished and she was unable to remember them.

Something brushed against her leg, but she was too weak to react. There were more touches, the voices were so close now. Someone was shifting her, moving her. She felt a tug and heard something rip. Her dress. They were ripping her dress. There was laughter, cold and cruel. She didn't understand, she didn't understand. And then someone was yelling, and everything went away, the voices, the touches. The only thing she could hear was a constant humming- was that the sound of an engine?

There was a lurch, and she turned, but the movement left her feeling weak and dizzy. She tried to sit up, but instead felt something shift underneath her, and with a terrifying motion, she felt herself start to slip. She tried to move, she pushed herself up with all of her strength, but that made the falling faster, and she hit the ground with a painful thump.

She lay on the cold ground in shock, still unable to process anything. Eventually, she mustered the strength to pull herself up enough to see. There were tracks surrounding her, and snow was softly falling. Every movement she made brought nausea and lightheadedness. She could not remember anything, and she could not make sense of anything but the fact that she must have been in a truck and fallen out. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed once more against the ground. It must have been over an hour before anything happened. She felt a bright light shine against the back of her closed eyelids, but she did not open her eyes.

"Dear God, my God," someone was saying, over and over. It was a kinder voice than the others, one that got nearer and nearer, and she felt someone touch the back of her head where it ached.

"Is she alive?" A different voice asked,

Now, a hand was on her wrist, over her heart, brushing against her cheek:

"She's alive and breathing, but very weak. And, as far as I can tell, she's been hit on the head with something very hard," the first voice replied.

"We have to get her to the Hospital," the second voice said. She felt someone lift her off the ground, and once again, the world faded into black.

...

Anya woke up from her nightmare, gasping and crying. Dmitry was not in bed with her, so she stood and pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to stop the sobs that were coming out of her.

She was trembling uncontrollably. Another nightmare. Except, this one hadn't been a nightmare. This one had been a horrifying replay of her memories, with vivid detail. It had felt so real, so present. Why did they never end? Yesterday had been so wonderful, why could it not seem to stay that way?

She swallowed hard and paced across the floor, trying to wake herself up. It was dawn, and a soft light was showing through the curtains. It was still early. Where was Dmitry?

Anya's heart was beating hard within her chest, and she could not slow it down. A feeling of panic was quickly overtaking her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.

"Everything's fine, Anya. Everything is fine. You're safe now. Dmitry's just gone out somewhere, he probably left you a note," she said to herself. To think that she was somehow in danger was completely illogical, but she'd seemed to have lost all sense of logic at the moment. Every thought was a paralyzingly fear, and whether it made sense or not, it rendered her anxious and overwhelmed, suffocating in panic. Suddenly, the bathroom door opened and Dmitry stepped out, looking at her in concern.

Anya was still trapped in her terror, and she did not move.

"Anya?" he said, walking over to her. "What happened, what's wrong?"

She let out a sob and shook her head, and Dmitry quickly wrapped his arms around her, his hand rubbing her back reassuringly.

"It's alright, Anya, everything's alright."

She clung to him, still shaking, and he hugged her to him, murmuring soft words of comfort.

When she had stopped crying, he stepped back to look at her, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

"What happened, Anya?" he asked.

"I... I had a nightmare," she told him.

"A nightmare? With your family?" he questioned.

She nodded.

"But I thought you didn't get those anymore," he said.

"I don't," she lied, turning away to look out the window. "Well, I didn't, but now they're back, and it was so real, it was so real, Dmitry, and I-" Anya was cut off by the sobs that choked her throat.

Dmitry came behind her and once again wrapped his arms around her.

"You're safe, Anya, you're safe," he told her.

Anya took three deep breaths, and felt her body start to calm down.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"We should get out of here, get some fresh air. Is there somewhere you want to go?"

Anya nodded.

"Yes. I want to get some breakfast and then visit Nana."

. . .

The Dowager Empress Maria Feoderovna could be a cold, bitter old woman. For years, she'd had everything she'd known taken from her. But when Anastasia came to visit, she was as welcoming and as warm as a hug. This was something Lily had taken notice to, over the past month. On days when Anastasia had not visited or written in a while, she was stressed and lashed out. When Anastasia was here, she was happier than ever. And that was how Lily knew that Anastasia was coming to visit today- the Dowager was cheerful and energetic.

"I'm guessing we have a visitor coming today?" Lily questioned, pouring some tea for the former Empress.

Maria smiled at her, sitting down and handing her a letter.

"Yes, I believe we do, Lily," she replied, adding some sugar to her tea.

Lily looked down at the letter in front of her, on which a neat scrawl was written:

"Nana,

I'm coming to visit today."

The letter was unsigned, but neither of the women needed a signature to identify who had written it.

"It's been a while since she's visited," Lily remarked, handing it back to the Dowager.

"Too long," the Dowager agreed, folding the letter neatly in half. "But the new life she and Dmitry have started has been a busy one to start, and I don't blame her."

Lily did not respond, but instead sat down and poured herself a cup of tea as well.

"Any news?" The Dowager asked pointedly.

"Nothing new. More letters from Count Leopold, but as you've requested, I've completely ignored them."

"Good." The Dowager finished her tea and pushed her empty cup forward, now staring intently at Lily. "And how is that imposter you still insist on seeing?"

"Vlad is doing well," Lily reported.

The Dowager pursed her lips and nodded.

"As long as he makes you happy, I suppose," she remarked, leaning back in her chair.

As sly smile crossed Lily's lips. Vlad did, in fact, make her happy. In truth, she was a little too happy with him. Although he was still the mischievous conman he'd been in his youth, he'd matured into a good man, and he was even better company.

However, the fact was, even though the Dowager pretended to hate him, Lily knew that she was the one who had employed him.

Vlad dealt with all the press- he talked with journalists, he did occasional publicity stunts with the Dowager. He'd learned to hold his tongue and say what the public needed to hear. He was also the one who responded to the letters- the fake Anastasia's who simply refused to stop writing; Maria had been unable to handle them any longer.

The Dowager had passed off his being employed by her as a careless coincidence- Vlad had just happened to be there, Vlad had just happened to be right for the job, but Lily knew the truth. Vlad had started to grow on the Dowager, and she didn't mind him nearly as much as she once had. She also must have known how Vlad was doing, but she'd still chosen to ask.

"I'm bored, Lily," the Dowager sighed. "I grow tired of sitting here. I feel shut in."

"Shall we go somewhere tomorrow, then?" Lily asked.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Maria said, nodding.

There was a silence that sat between them for a while, before Lily stood and cleared the tea off the table.

"I'll be back soon, your highness," she said and left the room.

Vlad was standing in the hallway, talking to a guard, but when he saw Lily, he quickly turned to walk with her, following her quick pace.

"Well, how has your day been?" she asked impatiently.

"Good. And yours?" he replied.

"Like usual. And guess who's coming to visit today."

"No! Really? Anya?" he asked.

"Yes." Lily made a quick stop at the kitchen to drop off the tea cups, then rejoined Vlad.

"Well, is she bringing Dmitry with her?" he questioned.

"She didn't say."

Vlad shook his head. "I haven't seen him since they left together."

"You will soon," Lily said, taking his hand. A maid walked out of the kitchen, and they quickly broke apart, trying to look inconspicuous. The maid stared at them, and then made her way down the hallway, ducking her head to avoid eye contact.

"So, we still aren't telling anyone about us?" Vlad asked.

"They don't need to know. The only people who need to know, do." she told him.

Vlad sighed, but did not argue.

"Well-" Vlad was interrupted by a guard, who walked straight to Lily.

"Countess Lily, there's a girl here to see the Dowager," he said.

"Bring her in," she replied.

The guard hesitated.

"She brought someone with her as well. A man."

Vlad cut in for her.

"Tall, with brown hair?" he asked.

The guard nodded, clearly unhappy Vlad had joined the conversation.

"He's alright, bring them both," Lily said, and the guard exited to do so.

She looked at Vlad, smiling, who grinned back at her.

"Here we go," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Tired.

The first thing Vlad noticed was how purely exhausted Anya looked. He had briefly seen her the last time she'd visited, and she'd simply radiated a glow of life. Now, she looked drained.

There were dark circles under her eyes- she looked weak and pale. As her eyes met his own, it dawned on him that she looked like the orphan he'd met in Russia so long ago, not the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. Then she smiled at him and her face lit up, that smile revealing the strength he knew was in her.

"Vlad," she said, pulling him into a hug.

"Anya. I've missed you."

As Lily hugged Anya, Dmitry entered the room, and Vlad was struck by the information that Dmitry did not look much better than Anya.

He, too, looked exhausted, but he pulled Vlad into a hug as well. Vlad pulled back and placed his hands on Dmitry's shoulders, shaking him a bit.

"It's good to see you, Dmitry," Vlad told him.

"You too," Dmitry replied.

"I'll take her in now," Lily cut in, and they both nodded.

Lily led Anya into the other room, and the two men were left alone.

"So... how has your elopement been?" Vlad asked.

Dmitry laughed, leaning against the wall.

"Well, we aren't married. Not yet, at least."

"Not yet?" Vlad questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Dmitry shrugged, staring down at the tiled floors. "There hasn't been a right time to ask. It's just... she's royalty, Vlad. I'm a street rat. The least she deserves is a fancy proposal."

"I think it would be reasonable to point out that the one who's royalty chose to run away with you."

Dmitry shook his head. "You're right on that, but I don't think she's happy about it."

Vlad leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Dmitry sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"I don't know. She's having nightmares, Vlad. Almost every night. She thinks I don't see them, but they've been getting worse. A lot worse, ever since we ran away together."

"Do you know what they're about?"

"The nightmares? I don't know, she says they're about her family, but-"

"I thought you said she doesn't think you see them?" Vlad pointed out.

"Well, she knows I see them sometimes!"

"Alright, continue," Vlad said.

"I just... do you think that she regrets it? Running away with me?" Dmitry asked.

"You think she's having nightmares about having run away with you?" Vlad inquired.

Dmitry scoffed. "No, I think she's having nightmares about her family, and her regretting running away with me is making them worse."

Vlad looked at Dmitry. "No, I don't think those dreams have anything to do with you, nor do I think she regrets going with you, Dmitry. What I do think is that you should talk to her about the nightmares," he insisted.

"Talk with her?" Dmitry asked.

"She's had a hard life. You have no idea what good confiding in someone can do."

"Wow... a month with the press and you're already spouting wisdom?" Dmitry smirked.

"Can't an old man have his own wisdom?" Vlad chuckled.

But Dmitry knew Vlad was right. From this conversation alone, Dmitry felt less anxious, less stressed. As much as Vlad could be terribly wrong on things, Dmitry trusted him on this.

"I've missed you, Vlad," he said.

"I've missed you too, old friend."

...

When Anya entered the room, it took everything she had not to fling herself into Nana's arms. Instead, she took a few steps forward and pulled Nana close, burying her head into her neck. The scent of orange blossoms comforted her beyond words.

"I'll leave you two alone," she heard Lily say.

Nana rubbed her back, then pulled away to look at her, her finger pulling Anya's chin up to look at her.

"Anastasia, what's wrong?" The Dowager asked, her brows furrowing.

Anya sat down on a bench and took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. Nana sat beside her, looking at her intently.

"Nana, I've been having nightmares, about- about my family. And that night in the cellar in Yekaterinburg."

The Dowager went pale. "Oh, Anastasia," she said, wrapping an arm around her and tucking her head on top of Anya's chin. She could feel Anya's trembling, so she pulled her into a full hug.

"My darling Anastasia."

Anya's sob's wracked through the both of them, and the Dowager clutched onto her, holding her close. They held on to each other, the Dowager stroking her hair, until she had stopped crying.

Anya released her Nana, and the Dowager rubbed her thumb over Anastasia's cheek.

"Talk to me about it," she requested.

"Nana, I don't know if I should."

"You should. Trust me, if it's troubling you, you should tell me," the Dowager commanded.

Anya looked at her, then dropped her eyes to her lap, where she fiddled with her thumb.

"The nightmares- they've come almost every night. They used to be just the family, every night, when I didn't know who I was. I couldn't remember them, and it tortured me. And then... I found you, and they stopped. But now that I remember you, I remember that night, too. That night in the cellar. And..." Anya stopped, a sob breaking through her words.

Nana took her hands and held them tight, patiently waiting for her to continue.

"And now I see them," she continued. "I see the guards, I see the smoke, I see the gunfire. I hear the screams. Oh god," she sobbed, and the Dowager once again wrapped her up in her arms. This time, Anya gently pulled away and continued through her tears.

"They used to be nightmares, just nightmares, but now it's like it's replaying my memories of that night." She took a shaky breath. "Do you... do you ever have things like that?"

The Dowager sighed, squeezing Anya's hand.

"I did. Your family used to visit me every night."

"What happened?" Anya asked.

"I talked about it to someone. I found someone I trusted with the information, and I told them everything."

"Lily?"

"The Dowager nodded. "Lily and I may not always get along, but she was there to listen to me. The more I talked about them, the less they came. Until one day, they stopped."

Anya hesitated. "So you think that this... me talking to you, will have helped?" she questioned.

The Dowager nodded, her mouth curving into a soft smile. "I do. I also think that talking to Dmitry about them will help."

"Dmitry?" Anya asked.

"He loves you. Talking to him about what happened will be difficult, but he'll listen, and that will help," the Dowager insisted.

Anya's mouth set in a hard line, but she nodded, and hugged her Nana once more.

Then they talked of Paris, of her life with Dmitry.

Nana gave her recommendations of hidden places that brought her pleasure, and Anya promised to shop with her the next day, and to go to the ballet with her at the end of the week.

Finally, they walked out of the room, arm in arm, to find Vlad and Dmitry playing chess, Lily watching the two of them.

"W- hey! That's cheating!" Dmitry was saying.

"No it wasn't! That was a perfectly fair turn," Vlad responded. Dmitry sighed but moved a pawn forward. Vlad studied the board then moved a knight, taking off one of Dmitry's pieces. Anya watched as Dmitry overlooked the board, then moved his pawn again.

"Nice move," Vlad remarked, then moved a piece and took out Dmitry's pawn. "Except, it really wasn't."

Dmitry rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Really? You're quitting?" Vlad asked.

"Yeah! I hate this game!" Dmitry replied.

Vlad sighed and started to clear the board, putting away the pieces.

Dmitry smiled at Anya, then his eyes crossed over to the Dowager, and he hesitated before starting to bow. The Dowager stopped him.

"Oh, please, young man, we don't need that in here."

Dmitry awkwardly stood in silence, then suddenly said, "Your majesty, I should apologize for that night-"

The Dowager cut him off once again with a motion of her hand.

"All is forgiven. After all, if it weren't for you, Anastasia and I would not be reunited."

Dmitry cleared his throat and nodded. Taking pity on his awkwardness, Anya squeezed Nana's hand.

"We'd better be going, Nana. I'll meet you and Lily tomorrow?"

"Yes, my love," the Dowager agreed, placing a loss on Anya's forehead.

The Dowager, Lily, and Vlad all walked Anya and Dmitry to the exit.

"Goodbye, Anastasia. I love you," the Dowager said. Anya pulled her Nana in for one more hug.

"I love you too, Nana."

She and Dmitry exited, and as they walked down the road, Anya noticed that she felt strangely free, as if a weight had lifted off of her shoulders.

Then she remembered Nana's words- "He loves you. Talking to him about what happened will be difficult, but he'll listen, and that will help."

As Anya looked over at Dmitry, she could almost feel those words pressuring her to talk to him.

I will talk to him, she decided.

Soon, she told herself.

Soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Petyr Antonov was not French. True, he'd lived in France for a great deal of his adult life, but the blood that flowed through his veins was Russian red through and through. When he'd been just a boy, he'd been separated from his parents, the only thing he could remember was the name of an enemy on his lips- Romanov.

France had been an unwelcome home. He had drifted from place to place, his political views earning him nothing but fear and disagreement here, where a large group of White Russians were populated. Talk of hate against the old Tsar was not tolerated.

And so, over time, Petyr had learned to keep his mouth shut, to melt his face into stone, to hide behind an endless array of masks. Even in front of these traitors.

And now, this girl had broken the walls he'd worked so hard to build.

 _This girl._

She'd first entered the palace weeks ago. He had seen her with the Dowager. She'd looked him in the eye and smiled, and he'd felt a wave of emotion cross over him.

 **Rage.**

 _Why?_

Petyr had searched his emotions to find what had set off an alarm inside of him. What had caused his instincts to react as such?

Promptly, he'd decided to follow her, letting fate guide his way.

He'd melted into the shadows, a familiar thing he'd come to learn. Stalking her trail, he had moved with her, and had not let her out of his sight. The path he'd followed led down a corridor and to a door that was shut in his face.

He'd taken a deep breath and swallowed his frustration. She had gone into the room, she would have to come out eventually. He'd traded another guard for a shift near the door and waited. Hours had ticked their time away, and still no one had exited. Looking around to make sure it was clear, he'd pressed his ear against the door. Silence.

' _Damn_!' he'd thought viciously. Slowly, he'd grabbed the doorknob and entered. The room was as empty as the silence he'd heard. There was a door at the other end, one they must have gone out through. ' _I should've listened to what they were saying!'_ The thought burst into his mind, so rageful it was like a ball of fire inside of him.

However, just like every other moment he'd experienced, the past was firm and unchangeable.

Petyr had stalked away from that door and every day since, had waited for her again.

And here she was, looking so weak he barely recognized her. But, his instincts rang true. With just the briefest moment of eye contact between them, that rage was there again. And this time, he would find out why. He ever so cautiously trailed her, this time her being with the Countess- Lily. He hid behind a curtain near the door until Lily had exited, then once more scanned around him to make sure no one was near. Slowly, he leaned against the door.

 _"Nana, I've been having nightmares..."_ the girl was saying. A loud noise behind him caused him to snap away from the door. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he looked around. But no one was near, and he deemed it safe to listen again.

This time, it was the Dowager's voice he heard. _"Oh, Anastasia,"_ she said.

Petyr pulled away from the door, and he could almost swear he felt his blood pulsing through his veins.

 _Impossible. It was impossible_.

The Dowager had announced the end of her search for her youngest granddaughter weeks ago.

But, really, it was not impossible.

The girl had referred to the Dowager as Nana. The Dowager had called her Anastasia. It was not impossible, and here this girl stood, mere feet away from him. A Romanov, alive and here.

 _Killing her would be his destiny._

…

As soon as she and Dmitry had returned from Nana's, Anya knew something was wrong. That feeling filled the pit of her stomach like a rock. Her hands shook, and she felt dizzy and separated from her body. Unfortunately, this anxiety was a familiar feeling to her, and it worsened every time she thought of telling Dmitry about the things she saw in her sleep.

' _Just tell him now,'_ she thought. ' _What's the worst that could happen?'_

Her stomach lurched in reply. The more she urged herself to tell him, the more the feeling spread, until she felt as though it was suffocating her. Her breaths came out shallow and ragged, she was practically gasping. Against her will, tears started to come, rapid and nonstop.

"Anya?" she heard Dmitry ask. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head in reply, and felt him cautiously place his hand on her arm.

"Hey," he said calmly, rubbing her back.

"You're going to be okay. Whatever it is, I'm here."

She swallowed hard, braving through it, still unable to speak.

"Deep breaths, Anya. Deep breaths," Dmitry continued. "Everything is going to be alright."

His hand continued to rub her back comfortingly. She inhaled slowly, held the breath, then exhaled. Her heart rate slowed, and her panic started to disperse.

"You're all right, Anya, everything's fine," Dmitry said. "Like that, deep breaths."

She started to recover, but the tears would not stop. She broke into sobs, and Dmitry gently pulled her close. She sobbed into his shoulder, letting the sound of his voice calm her. He was still rubbing her back, murmuring soft things. A final sob wracked her body, and she held onto Dmitry's shirt, trembling.

They sat that way for ages, Dmitry holding her and occasionally saying comforting things, and Anya clinging to him.

When she finally got the strength to pull away, she found that she could not look at him.

"Anya," he started. "You don't have to tell me what's going on. If you don't want to, I understand. But, I'm here for anything. I promise." He slipped his hand into hers.

Giving his hand a squeeze, she was finally able to meet his gaze.

"Thank you, Dima," she managed.

"I love you, Anya," he said.

"I love you too, Dmitry," she replied.

She kicked the shoes off her feet and tucked her legs under her, leaning against him. He rested his chin on her head, rubbing her arm softly. She took his other palm and traced patterns on it with her finger. Eventually, a smile started to grow on her face, and when she looked over at Dmitry, he was grinning too.

"Should we get dinner?" she asked.

"Yeah, you feeling up to it?" he asked. "I could bring something back."

She slipped her shoes back on and took his hand.

"No, I'm alright," she told him.

He nodded, and they walked out together.

…

Petyr had followed the girl home. She and the man she'd been with had remained in the house for a few hours, then they had left together. He trailed the girl to a restaurant, watching her. He would not kill her, not yet. It was too open and public. This was a personal matter and would be done in private. Besides, he had not yet thought of what he would say to her. But he knew two things for sure, he would follow her until he had picked the right time to do it, and he would plunge a knife through her heart and watch her choke at his feet.

The two were talking about Russia now. His rage had gotten harder to control. _Patience,_ he told himself. _Your time will come._

They were traitors, both of them. But the man was not his to kill. Silence between them, now. Just silence. They finished up their meal and started to leave. Suddenly, the girl's head whipped around to where he was standing. Petyr didn't move, knowing that he was hidden. The girl- _Anastasia_ , he corrected himself.

 _Anastasia_ stared out for a moment, then the man next to her said something. She responded, pulled him away, and they quickly left.

He continued to follow them.

…

Paris was a glittering jewel in the light of the sunset. They walked past the Seine, and found a restaurant with seats outside, so they could stare at the view.

"Do you think we'll ever stop missing Russia?" Anya asked suddenly.

Dmitry's brows furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know. Probably not," he said.

The waiter brought them their food, and they both started on it.

Uncomfortable at the silence, Anya looked up at him. "I didn't think I'd miss it like this when we left," she murmured.

Dmitry chuckled. "I'd been trying to leave for years, but I guess it's always just going to be a part of me."

There was more silence, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable.

After they finished up and paid, they stood and started to walk. As she took a few steps away from the restaurant, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

 _Someone's watching you._

She quickly whirled in the direction of the stare, but she couldn't see down into the dark alleyway. Her heartbeat was so fast it was painful now, a constant pounding inside of her. She was trembling again. The two seconds she stared out into the dark seemed like a lifetime.

"Anya?" Dmitry asked. "What's wrong?"

"I…" She trailed off, continuing to look out into the darkness. "I thought I saw something."

Dmitry looked into the alleyway with her. "Do you want me to go look-"

"-No!" she cut him off. Anya was not sure if someone really was watching her, but there was one thing she knew for sure- she would not be able to handle losing Dmitry.

Dmitry looked startled at her outburst, but she gripped his arm and pulled him away. "Please, Dima, let's just go home," she begged him.

He looked back at the alley once more, then let himself be pulled away. They continued to walk towards home. The feeling of uncertainty still lingered around her like a veil. Suddenly, her senses pricked.

 _Someone's watching you._

She looked back again, and once more there was no one in sight.

Her pace became brisker. They took a left down their street, then Anya led them in the wrong direction, towards a cafe she knew.

"Anya, we're going-" Dmitry started to say.

"I know!" she said.

They continued down the street. There it was again.

 _Someone's watching you._

Her breathing was harder, she was almost running now. Dmitry was keeping up, looking at her in confusion.

 _Someone's watching you. Someone's watching you. Someone's watching you._

"Anya!" Dmitry yelled.

She stopped, bursting into tears.

Dmitry tenderly took a hold of her arms.

"Anya, what's going on?" he asked.

"Dmitry, there's someone following us. I can feel it," she said softly.

Dmitry looked back behind them. "Anya, I'll go look-"

She shook her head violently.

"Let's go home," he suggested.

She shook her head again.

He exhaled slowly.

"Anya, then let's go to the palace," he said.

"The palace?" she asked.

"There are guards there. We'll be safe, I promise," Dmitry told her.

She gave a nod, and together they left for the palace.

Dmitry talked to a guard outside. The guard went in for a moment, then came out with Lily, who led the two of them inside.

"We have guards searching the area outside to make sure no one is there. The Dowager is currently asleep, but we'll inform her what happened as soon as she wakes. If we find anyone, we'll let you all know. For tonight, we have a room for you two," Lily informed them.

"Thank you," Anya choked.

She left them at a room in a corner, and reported that there was clothes provided for them inside. The room was comfortable and secure, and Anya noted that she felt very safe here. She changed into her nightclothes, then looked out the window. All was clear and peaceful.

Dmitry sat on the bed, slowly taking off his shoes.

"Dima, I'm sorry," she said walking over to the bed.

He looked up, shaking his head. "Anya, you don't have to be sorry," he replied.

"But I am," she told him, sitting next to him. "Thank you, for understanding."

He placed his hand on the side of her face and gave her a soft smile.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. They stayed that way a while, just sitting together, until Anya drifted off. Dmitry gently picked her up and placed her under the covers, making sure the blanket covered her.

"Sleep well, Anya," he murmured.

…

Petyr's heart was racing, but at least he knew where the girl was. _Damn her._ She'd noticed him, and went straight to the palace. Now there was a lookout around the perimeter for anyone in the area, and he'd been forced to retreat back to his home. He'd have to be more careful from now on, stay further away. Losing the girl would better than being caught, and he knew exactly where she'd return to each night.

The obstacles he faced now would soon be forgotten, replaced by his one true act that would define his destiny.

 _He would kill her, no matter how long it took to plan out. She would die at his hand, and the line of Romanovs would finally come to an end._


	6. Chapter 6

Anya awoke the next morning to a sharp rap at the door. Trying to shake the drowsiness off of her, she promptly got up and pushed it open.

"Nana," she exclaimed.

Maria enveloped Anya in her arms.

"I didn't mean to wake you," the old woman told her, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"It's alright, I would've been awake soon anyway," Anya replied.

The Dowager gripped Anya's shoulders and stared into her eyes.

"Last night. Tell me what happened," she instructed.

There was a brief silence as Anya hesitated. "Nana, I was sleep-deprived and paranoid…" she enunciated carefully, as if the words were fragile. "I can barely remember anything about the rest of the night. It could have just been my imagination."

"And if it wasn't?" Maria asked. Anya slowly nodded, letting her eyes drop to the wooden floor.

"I never actually saw anything, but I thought… I _thought_ I felt someone watching me," she uttered.

Maria's face melted into stone that Anya could not read.

"I moved from where I was, to somewhere different," Anya continued, "But anywhere I went, I still felt it. Like they were following me…"

Maria gripped Anya's hands, and Anya was struck by their warmth. "Then we have to do something about it," the Dowager insisted.

"Nana, if I was sure about it, then I would. But I never _saw_ anything. Dmitry was with me, and he didn't either. He didn't feel like anything was wrong at all."

The Dowager opened her mouth to speak, but Anya interrupted her before she could start.

"If it happens again, I will, I promise. But for now, with so little to go on… Nana, let's just enjoy today for what it is."

The Dowager's face tightened, and she gazed into Anya's eyes, searching. Anya could tell she wanted to argue, but after Anya gave her a pleading look, she sighed and gave in.

"If you say so," she said, brushing her hand across Anya's cheek.

Anya looked up at her. "I do say so. Today is our day, Nana. I won't let a bad night's rest ruin it."

Nana gave Anya's hands a comforting squeeze and pressed them to her mouth, giving them a kiss. "Stubborn," she teased.

"Your favorite," Anya replied, returning her smile.

"Strong. Not afraid of anything," the Dowager finished.

"I'll get dressed, and then I'll meet you outside, Nana," Anya promised.

"Shall we get breakfast on the way, or would you rather eat here?" the Dowager questioned.

Anya let the silence linger again for a moment as she considered. "Here is fine," she decided.

The Dowager gave a single nod and left her to change. Anya sucked in a deep breath, and slowly released it.

She was calmer today, more well-rested. But last night still lingered on her, taking its toll. It was all such a blur now. Her fear had made it hard to differentiate what had been real. She could still see Dmitry's brown eyes, creased in confusion.

 _He thinks you're crazy._

She sighed, shaking her head and stumbling out of her thoughts. ' _Dmitry doesn't think you're crazy,'_ she told herself, picking up the soft blue dress that lay on the foot of the bed.

 _He does and you know it,_ the voice in her head countered.

Anya clenched her jaw and undid her nightgown, letting it slide to the floor. Letting the voice go unanswered was like letting it win, but continuing to fight with it was an endless argument. She ignored it for now, slipping on her new dress and buttoning it up. "Today is going to be a good day," she instructed herself.

Taking the silence from the voice as a good thing, she pulled up her hair and exited the room. The smell of breakfast flooded the halls, and she followed its trail to the dining room.

Dmitry was sitting at the table when she walked in, and for a brief moment she wondered why he'd left without her.

 _It's because hates you,_ the voice said.

' _Dmitry can have his own life without hating me,'_ she snapped back.

He gave her a nervous smile as she sat next to him.

"Morning, Anya," he started hesitantly.

"Good morning, Dmitry," she replied. Her heart sunk suddenly as she realized that her words had come out sharp and cold, instead of soft like she'd intended. To make up for it, she shot him a smile as warm as sunshine.

Vlad came in and sat down next to her. He patted her hand and leaned into her.

"I heard what happened," he whispered, giving her a pitiful smile.

 _Pity._

They all pitied her, babied her. Like she was fragile. Like she could break at any moment. True, the last… month had been difficult, but she was still the same.

 _I'm not a child,_ she thought.

She took a roll from the table and savagely split it in half, then took a knife and buttered it. Both Dmitry and Vlad were watching her carefully. She tried to ignore this.

Lily entered the room gracefully, and to Anya's relief, she gave her a grin full of life and did not mention the previous night.

"I heard you and her majesty are going shopping today, Anya," Lily said brightly, sitting down across from her.

"Yes! Are you coming?" Anya asked.

"Me?" Lily asked, tilting her head. "Would you want me to?"

Anya nodded. "Will you?"

"I would _never_ miss an opportunity to buy something," Lily answered.

Anya could feel the room relaxing, but she could still barely glance at Dmitry.

 _You need to tell him about Gleb._

This time, she agreed with the voice. But how?

Interrupting Anya's thoughts, the Dowager entered at a brisk pace and sat next to Lily.

"Nana," Anya purled. "Lily will be joining us today, is that alright?"

Nana's eyes twinkled as she gazed at her granddaughter. "Of course."

Breakfast was finished quickly, and the girls stood to set off.

As Dmitry took a step towards them, Vlad gripped his arm and pulled him back.

"Let's let them bond, shall we?" Vlad suggested under his breath.

"But Anya's-"

"-in good company," Vlad insisted, cutting him off.

Dmitry nodded, his jaw tightening. "We haven't had a day apart since… we left," he finished dumbly.

"She'll be fine, and it'll do both of you good," Vlad agreed.

Sighing, Dmitry sat back down at the table. Knitting his fingers together, he looked up at Vlad.

"I miss home," he said abruptly.

Vlad sat next to him with a groan. "Don't we all?"

"I guess, but…"

Vlad raised his eyebrows. "But?"

Dmitry swallowed hard and dropped his head. " _But_ , it's like I've tried so hard to get away from Russia for as long as I can remember, and now I miss it more than I ever thought I could."

Vlad nodded solemnly. "Homesickness is an illness with no cure," he said wisely. "It will never go away, but it will lessen, eventually. Paris will grow on you."

Dmitry gave Vlad a half-hearted smile. "You think so?"

"I know so. One day Paris will be your home, and all of this will seem far away," Vlad said, as if remembering something.

"Doesn't stop me from missing Russia now," Dmitry laughed bitterly.

Vlad stood up and ran his hands down his coat, straightening it out.

"Then I have something to show you."

…

Anya looked up from the lavender fabric at the sound of her grandmother's voice.

"What did you say, Nana?" she asked.

"I said, have you told your young man yet?" The Dowager repeated, appearing from behind a rack of dresses.

Anya dropped her eyes to the tiled floors. "Not yet," she said softly.

The old woman pursed her lips but did not respond.

Lily walked up to them, holding a glittering red gown.

"Aren't we going to the ballet next week?" she asked.

The Dowager and Anya nodded simultaneously, and Lily raised her eyebrows and quickly disappeared with the dress.

"I won't rush you," Nana started. "But it isn't going to get better without doing anything."

Anya gave a nod and did not respond.

 _Failure,_ the voice said.

She stiffened. ' _I am not a failure,'_ she thought to herself.

She could almost feel the smugness in its silence. Trembling with anger, she shoved the dress back on the rack.

…

"Are we there yet?" Dmitry panted, struggling to follow Vlad up the steep slope. Life in Paris was proving to be a bit too luxurious, the evidence was in how hard he was breathing. He'd have to get out more. The view around him was stunning, green fields and blue sky, but he still could not understand what on earth this could possibly have to do with Russia. "Almost there," Vlad called.

"Right," Dmitry huffed.

Finally, Vlad stopped at the top of a hill, and Dmitry joined him, taking in a grateful breath of the cool air.

"Well?" Dmitry asked, shrugging. "What did you bring me all the way out here for?"

Vlad gave him a mischievous grin. "You don't recognize it?"

Dmitry caught his breath and looked around.

"It's…" he began.

"That's right. This is where we were when we very first saw Paris," Vlad concluded for him.

Dmitry inhaled, turning his head to see the full view of the lights of the city below, the Eiffel Tower in sight.

"Do you remember how you felt, Dmitry?" Vlad asked. "That rush of feeling? That fear, that excitement, that _relief?_ I've kept that feeling with me the entire time I've been in this city."

He looked over at Dmitry, who was gazing around at the landscape in awe.

Dmitry did indeed remember, almost like it had been yesterday. But it also seemed a million years ago, in a way. He'd been different, even just a few short months ago. Paris had been filled with new opportunities, new promises, a new life. But none of that had had mattered. Anya had been a priority, even then. A new life without her? It had almost seemed pointless. At least, until he'd realized who Anya really was. What she'd deserved. A new life for him didn't matter, but it mattered for her.

"I remember, Vlad," he said.

Vlad nodded. "What stands out, Dmitry?"

"Jumping the train. Crossing the border," Dmitry lied.

Vlad chuckled. "Yes, illegally leaving the country does bring a certain amount of exhilaration."

Dmitry laughed with him.

"You know what, I _do_ remember something else," Dmitry said.

"Oh?" Vlad inquired.

"You told me Anya would break my heart," Dmitry replied.

Vlad shrugged. "And at the time, I very much believed she would. You got lucky."

Dmitry scoffed. "Lucky?"

Vlad tilted his head. "Do you know the chances of a girl choosing a man over being a princess? If it had been any other girl, I would have been right."

"If it had been any other girl," Dmitry vowed, "I wouldn't have been in love with her."

Vlad nodded.

There was a silence for a while as they sat, looking down at the city.

"Well, I think we've spent enough time here," Vlad said eventually. "What do you say we go back to the city?"

"Alright," Dmitry said, and together they set off on the hike down to Paris.

…

Eavesdropping was not an unfamiliar thing to the Countess Lily Malevsky-Malevich. It had always come quite naturally, and had benefited her in many situations, including the current one.

From past sessions, she had gathered that Anya was having nightmares. Not only that, but that they were so bad they were preventing her from being able to enjoy life.

Now, she listened intently to the conversation the Dowager empress and her granddaughter were having.

"Anya," the old woman was saying, "I know how hard it must seem to tell him what happened. But your young man deserves to know what's been troubling you."

"I know, Nana, I do," Anya replied. "But whenever I try to tell him, I… can't."

There was a pause.

"The right time will come," the Dowager insisted. "I won't bother you any longer on the matter."

Lily stepped away from the two, her mind racing.

 _I see,_ she thought.

She could understand Dmitry's position, having been in his place, once. The Dowager's restless nights had troubled Lily as well. Eventually, she'd been fortunate enough to have the Dowager trust her with the visions that haunted her at night.

But Anya…

Anya had lived through so much more. And now, she was being followed. When the shaking girl had appeared at the palace, Lily hadn't had a doubt that Anya had been right- someone had been trailing her. The night had seemed… disturbed somehow. Lily had sat at the window for the rest of the night, searching for any sign of a figure. Nothing had shown. But Lily was confident that Anya had not simply been a paranoid, anxious girl. She had been right.

Suddenly, Lily's thoughts were startled by a jolt in her senses.

Looking up, she gazed around the store. Nothing was out of order.

 _Don't be paranoid,_ she reminded herself.

Joining Anya and the Dowager, she smiled at the two of them, holding her newly purchased dress.

Anya was holding a deep green gown, apparently ready to leave. The Dowager had grabbed a silver piece, a statement of pride and respect.

"Are we ready to go?" she asked patiently.

"Yes," Anya said. Maria nodded her agreement.

As the two women purchased their gowns, Lily felt a nag in her feelings again.

Inconspicuously, she looked over her shoulder.

Nothing.

Her uneasiness did not fade. Looking back at Anya, she noticed that Anya was also looking around. When their eyes met, Lily gave Anya a bright grin, and Anya returned it.

 _Let her think everything is fine,_ she thought. _She's been through enough for now._

As they left the store, Lily once again glanced over her shoulder.

 _Try to make a move now,_ she dared the unseen figure viciously.

She'd be damned if anything were to happen to Anya when she was around.


	7. Chapter 7

Petyr's anxiety was suffocating him. No. Not anxiety. That wasn't the right word. He huffed, leaning against the building, out of breath. A word came to mind- wanderlust- but that wasn't right either. No, wanderlust had been tamer than this. And focused on travel. But its implications were nearly the same. A craving, a desire, an itch that his fingers were tempted to scratch. No, wanderlust was not quite right. What was he really feeling? He searched for it again.

 _Bloodlust._ It was the word he'd been looking for, but not the word he'd wanted. But it was true. He was _craving_ to kill this girl. For a moment, he questioned himself. This desire was drastic, tempting, and it left a dark taste on his tongue. It shocked him. It frightened him. Ever since he'd found Anastasia, he'd seemed almost... not himself. But, he could not stop now. He could still see his family being dragged away, as if it had happened yesterday. He'd screamed for them, begged them to stay with him. No, he would not stop now. Not after the years of pain this girl had brought to him. She would join her family, turn to ashes in the ground. He could not let himself doubt now. From here on, his path was beyond return. It was his fate.

He looked around, regaining himself a bit. _Remember where you are,_ he reminded himself. The cold winds were harsh. Today was moist and bitter, despite the blue skies and sunshine. It took him ten seconds of deep breathing to be able to recall a hazy picture of where he was and how he'd gotten there.

He didn't know where he was exactly, but he knew he was near the palace. He'd gone there early, in hopes of following the girl home. But Anastasia had not gone home. She had gone out shopping, with her Grandmother and a servant. He'd attempted to track her, but with the presence of the Dowager so near, he hadn't dared.

That had made him angry. He could barely remember what paths he'd taken. It was all ringing in his ears and his pounding heart in his chest. Brushing past people, almost running. He'd gotten here, a secluded area, and pounded his fists into the wall until they cracked and bled.

"Fool," he muttered to himself now, looking down at his raw knuckles. "You have to keep control."

His anger had overpowered him. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

Gingerly, he reached into his pocket and found a handkerchief. He tried in vain to wipe away the blood, but it would not come so easily. His trembling hands did not help the matter. Petyr let out a breath of angry air. He'd have to return home to wrap them. Shoving his fists into his pockets, he exited the narrow space and returned to the main road. He'd been right, he wasn't far from the palace. The area was not so well known to him as others, but he'd crossed it from time to time. A familiar shop caught his eye, and he headed for it. Looking ahead, he found that it led to an intimate area, one he knew well. Confidently, he let himself follow the roads to his home until he reached his front door. Trying to ignore his body's tremor, he let himself inside and exhaustedly collapsed on a chair.

The rooms were in turmoil. Clothes, papers, tossed everywhere. Usually, he was so organized, neat and clear. Neatness had barely crossed his mind since the girl had appeared. Swallowing hard, he shook his head. He couldn't let himself fall apart. If he was really going to pull any of it off, he'd have to be organized, even more than usual. Grunting, he pulled himself up from the seat and delicately began to clean the mess. Then, he cautiously cleaned and bandaged the wound. Better. He was still shaking, but at least no one would see the mess. He looked around at the tidy house. Good.

He returned to the streets. ' _What now_?' he wondered. Fate was quick to answer his question as two men passed by him.

It was the man, the dark haired man who had come into the palace with Anastasia. The one she'd gone to dinner with last night. He was walking with a man Petyr vaguely recognized, that one who often spoke to the press for the Dowager. A promising duo.

' _Yes, of course,'_ he thought excitedly. ' _Of course! The boy is bound to talk of her.'_ He grinned, starting to trail behind them. ' _Perhaps,'_ Petyr thought, ' _My luck will finally pick up and he'll mention somewhere she'll be!'_

The men were stupidly easy to follow, bumbling and oblivious. Petyr quickly learned that the dark haired man was called Dmitry, and was reminded that the other's name was Vlad.

They left the city and entered forest, taking a long climb through the lush hills until they reached a particular high men were out of breath, which Petyr took note of. Every detail would matter. As the men slowed, Petyr let his trail on them loosen, until they came to a stop. Cautiously, he crouched behind some bushes and crawled towards them until he could hear what they were saying clearly.

"This is where we were when we very first saw Paris," Vlad was saying.

There was a moment of silence, and Petyr ached to stand and see what was happening, but he kept his stance.

"Do you remember how you felt, Dmitry?" the older man asked. "That rush of feeling? That fear, that excitement, that relief _?_ I've kept that feeling with me the entire time I've been in this city."

Petyr was immediately bored. This was useless.

More silence. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard. His thighs were beginning to cry out from the uncomfortable position, but he stayed still as a statue.

"I remember, Vlad."

This was so soft Petyr almost didn't catch it.

"What stands out, Dmitry?" Vlad questioned.

"Jumping the train. Crossing the border," came the answer.

Petyr immediately straightened. _What?_

"Yes, illegally leaving the country does bring a certain amount of exhilaration."

Vlad was joking, but the quip flooded Petyr with rage. They were here illegally? Had they helped the girl escape?

Breathing deeply, he tuned back into the men.

"Do you know the chances of a girl choosing a man over being a princess? If it had been any other girl, I would have been right."

Petyr let himself sink onto the ground, relieving his screaming body from the painful pose he'd held. _They knew who she was._ Knew who she was and helped her get out.

Traitors, then. Just as much as she was.

They would die too.

The decision was made so swiftly it almost caught him off guard. But it fit all too well. The bystanders, the ones who turned their head from Russia, they deserved their fate just as much.

A cracking twig brought him back to the hill. The men were leaving. He regret not having listened to the end of the conversation, but let the affliction slide off of him. It wasn't important- he'd learned what he'd needed to know. He listened to the sound of the men retreating back to the city until he was sure they were gone. Once again, he had to remind himself to not let his emotions overpower him. His trek down the hill was silent and cautious, with Petyr noting to himself not to get careless. He could not afford to be caught, and even more so, he could not imagine what these men would do if they caught him eavesdropping. They'd crossed the border illegally, hid the Grand Duchess… obviously their regard for the law was not a priority. Would they hurt him? Kill him? He did not know them well enough to answer, but he was not keen to find out.

As he entered back into the city, he double-checked that the men were not in sight, then strutted into the streets. He was confident now, fate was leading the way. It was telling him exactly where to go and what to do- he would just have to make sure to listen.

He looked around, trying to feel its guide. Nothing. _Hmm…_

He looked down a path and followed it, willing it to lead him where he was meant to be. At the end was his reassurance. He was shocked, honestly, in how perfect it was. There, at the end, there they were. The Dowager, the Princess, the servant. He nearly laughed at how clear the sign was. Petyr was still hesitant to follow them, but he could not ignore the so clearly planted evidence that it was where he was meant to be. He took a step forward, tensing at how near they were.

 _Relax. You've done this a thousand times._

He took in a breath slowly and let himself fall into a loose follow of the women. They were talking, but he did not dare get close enough to hear what they said. He couldn't let his curiosity make him careless.

Following them was difficult. Dismissing the thought of getting discovered was not easy. With what had happened last time he followed her, it was dangerous to do so again, and he was fully aware of this. But he was meant to follow them. He was sure of it.

He let himself trail behind as they squeezed through crowds. His mind was buzzing, his palms clammy. His breaths were coming quick and shallow, and sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.

 _Remember. Remember why she needs to die in the first place._

All it took was one memory of his family, and his panic was replaced by anger. Usually, his anger was fierce and overpowering. Here, it was icy steel. He was strangely calm, but the bitter fire within him still burned. His follow on them became more automatic. The girls stopped at many of the shops, and he observed them. Anastasia was a bit reserved, obviously shaken from the encounter last night. The servant never seemed to shut up. He could hear her loud tones droning from where he stood.

Finally, mercifully, they entered a store, and he followed. It was a store for gowns. He was immediately out of place. The rest of the store was empty, besides the women and one worker. He dropped to a crouch, hiding behind one of the rows of gowns. This was ridiculous. Being in a position like this left him feeling unguarded and open. He'd have no explanation if he was found. Silently, he shifted himself so that he could move easier, and headed more towards them until he could hear soft voices. Very slowly, he dared to sneak a glance at them. The girl and her grandmother were talking, turned away from him. The servant was a few feet away, looking at gowns. He ducked back down and sighed, then risked moving a few feet closer. The talking had stopped, and he tilted his head, wondering if they had moved. Then, just a few feet away, he was startled by the sound of a dress being shoved back onto the rack.

 _Jesus,_ he thought, alarmed. He moved a bit back, looking around again to see where they were. Anastasia and the Dowager had separated, and were farther away. The servant was nowhere to be seen.

He would have to move closer again. One step closer. Then another. And another. Finally, he heard conversation. It was muffled by the dresses, so he rearranged himself until it was clearer. He couldn't piece together exactly what they were saying- the voices were very soft. He was only able to catch a bit about a young man… telling him something?

"Are we ready to go?"

It was the servant. He recognized her voice. _Damn it!_

The girls agreed they were done, and headed to the front to purchase. Anger flooding his veins, he gambled being caught and stood to look at them for a moment. Their backs were turned. His heart was pounding, but he took a couple more steps toward them and ducked down. At the last second before he was obscured by the dresses, the servant whipped around.

 _Shit. Had she seen him?_

His breathing grew heavier, but there was nothing but silence from the women. Slowly, they left the store, and he was left alone.

 _That was too close._

He waited a while before he snuck to the entrance and left the store. They were nowhere in sight, but he didn't care. It was time to return home.

The anger was back.

He tried to slow his breathing, but his heart was racing and his body would not be calmed down. Getting more anxious to control himself, he swept through the streets until he reached his house and threw open the door. Panting, he closed it and slouched down against it, hammering his fists into the floor.

 _Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!_

He was not sure quite what he was angry about. Maybe that he had been so sure they would be talking of something important, maybe that damned servant, maybe just Anastasia Romanov in general.

His hands were bleeding again. He caught his breath and shakily stood, leaning against the door for support. Then, he stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of vodka. It was time to stop being spontaneous. Killing the girl would need to be planned out, every detail. Now was the opportunity to start that plan. When, where, how.

His hands were leaving smears of blood all around, but he ignored this.

Sitting down at his desk, Petyr pulled out a paper and started to write.

In his hands, the plan fell together.


End file.
